Mass Effect: Medieval Effect
by TheJackinati275
Summary: It is 15th century England. Caston, a Yorkist squire flee's the battle of Bosworth, unexpectedly drawing himself into the lives of futuristic time travelers.


Mass Effect: Medieval Effect.

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Disclaimer: Mass Effect owned by EA games and Bioware.

Note: Events may be altered from how they appear in history. I will try to limit myself to altering things, but i may do so if necessary.

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The story takes place in 1480's England. Citadel goes bang, ass-pullery/hand-wavery/deus-ex-machina magic causes Shepard and the Normandy's crew to arrive all over the place. More ass-pullery will allow Dextro-amino creatures to live, but then again, maybe they found horse-shoe crabs to eat on or something? You didn't think that even our own earth doesn't have Dextro-amino based life-forms, did you, well we do. Mint is also Dextro-amino based, did you know that? Maybe Turian blood tastes like mint!

If you like realism and are okay with deus-ex-machina ass pulls to explain why people such as Garrus are even living without dextro-amino food etc., you might just like this story, or you might not like it or whatever.

I present the story to you now. If you read through all this, pat yourselves on the back.

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Chapter 1: Bosworth and the dead.

I am a noble and a squire, a soldier and a killer of men, but most of all i am a coward, and for that i am ashamed. I fled the field at the turn of the battle, and deep inside i pray that the King has escaped with his life intact.

I started my day like i started all day's. I dressed in my linen undershirt, put on my braies and my burgundy red hose with attached steel knee-cops. I ate some bread served with cheese and jam as well as having a drink of ale before going back outside my tent to put on my aketon. I asked for some assistance with putting on my brigandine and my jack chains, the protection i wore for my arms since i was unable to afford any plate armour. I solely hoped to god that i would earn both glory for my family and myself as well as to take home a knight's ransom or two by capturing a few knights.

The battle i expected to win turned into a grave defeat, one that left me in shame and disgrace, but through it i met the people who changed my life. They few who vanquished my fears for eternity, as i now sit here to regale the story to you.

Let me start off with the battle. I was there, lined up with other men, my erstwhile partners as the arrows of the bastard Lancastrians rained down true as rain on us Yorker's whilst our arrows fell short of flight and stopped short of their Lancastrian ranks. It was fortunate that our section of men felt little of the rainstorm, but others did, and suffered for it.

Then came the horn blow which started the battle. Then came the blasts of the handgunners of both sides and the loosing of steel bolts.

Our section, composed of two hundred men or so charged through, it was there where i felt the manyfold stings of our enemies arrows shot not forty paces afar from me. My brigandine stopped them short, my aketon absorbed the power, but it still hurt me unceasingly enough that I thought that I had broken several ribs.

We dashed forth and delivered ferocious death to our enemies. Billmen spiked and pole-arms smashed and swordsmen clashed and a great many did die on both sides. It was our turn to win, I was sure of it since we outnumbered the Lancastrians by a great many. But then we were outflanked by men in the heraldry of Stanley, and our numbers fell shorter and shorter with every minute. When the knight i was serving, sir Hugh Laurence had his sallet smashed in by a mace from a horseman and died outright, i knew that the battle was turning. It was my first battle, i knew so little and so i ran like the many multitudes of men, of my kin, us men of York. I ran and ran, routed from the field as i was.

I almost drowned in the great sea of men in the river, so drenched with blood as it was that it ran red. The eyes of them shook me, a great many of them all white and black and bloodshot, all of them dead, watching me run away, i was a coward.

My body drenched and dreadfully cold, i ran frightened of hearing the footsteps, hoping to hear none and to see none, but i did and so i hugged the ground as silent as a cat in the night. They passed through and immediately following them were screams of dead men, of slaughtered men, and i was fortunate that i was not one of them.

I walked past, seeing the poorer men of Lancaster looting the fallen, those foul bastards spawned of Satan took the valuables of noble men and families for themselves in their greed. To think that they, the noble men of York were not held for ransom sickened me to my stomach. Were we worth nothing to our enemies? Where we so hated for following the one true King?

I walked and walked, not running, not to drain my already bruised and battered body of my remaining stamina. My drenched armour and clothing wore me down every step of the way, such that i considered leaving them behind, but i was afraid of meeting an enemy in the brush with no armour on. There was no possibility of me lighting a fire to warm myself without alerting the enemy Lancastrians of my presence and so i suffered for my choice, as i should for being a coward.

I was afraid to show my face to my family. During my walk i often thought of going on a pilgrimage to escape that fate, that way my parents would think me dead at the battle, dying honourably. The reality was that i was a coward, how could i run when a great many fought, how could i show my face to my family in such disgrace.

It was then that i saw a man on the ground with an object two yards or so away from him. There was a small patch on the object that was glowing with an oddly blue light, as though it were illuminated by a heavenly figure.

The man was both tall and strong, enough that i thought he might be Goliath or a spawn of him, bloodied and bruised though he may be. He had no heraldry on his person, except for a badge with a star and several slashes surrounding it, none of which i knew of. My left hand fell for the pommel of my long sword as i spoke out to him.

"Be you Lancaster or York."

The man, downed as he was, spoke to me in a tone that erred me and my anger.

"Whoa whoa kid, put that sword down, what are you, playing knight or something?"

The man's English was different from my own somehow, i felt that i might understand him better if he would but speak slower.

Since i had no idea if he was friendly or no, i walked my way into the path of what i perceived to be the man's weapon. As i did so, the man quickly got to his feet and set himself in a stance, as though he were predicting my movements, i did not expect this. The man was clearly trained in the arts of combat just as i was.

"Tell me your allegiance or i will smite you in pieces."

"Look man, i am no threat, put down that sword or we will have trouble."

He was already in trouble, he did not know it. I readied my longsword to the tail, expecting him to think that i was lowering my guard. He seemed to have bought it. I did not reply, but the man took it upon himself to say something.

"Look, i don't know what is going on here… what year is this."

I was askew, what man did not know the year except for a madman?

"Anno domini nostri Iesu 1485. It is August, though i know not the day."

The man's face lit up like a startled horse, but returned back to his stalwart face as before. "Wait, did you say 1485, as in the year 1485?"

I thought the man was mad, but i gave a response. "Yes. Are you York or Lancaster?" My hand squeezed my hilt tighter, if he would not tell me his allegiance in a single answer, i would strike him down and leave him dead.

"Look here, okay… i am none of those, i do not even know what the fuck you are talking about. I am allied with none of them, okay."

"Twesersk, kliearsk saeerk 1485?"

I heard it then, a voice from my back that was so unfamiliar and strange that it could only be foreign. It was like hearing the voices of the elves in the forest as the story tales told around camp fires in the night. I myself as a child rushed into the forests, trying to find one, but i never encountered the elves.

Something monotone translated the language of the figure to one that i somewhat understood, it was English, if a little hard for me to comprehend. It was my language, i could tell by the words, but it was like it was another language all the same.

"Wait, did he just say 1485?"

I switched stance and turned my head slightly, always careful to watch the man across from me at the same time so that he would not charge me unawares. It was hard to see from the angle, but i knew that there was a weapon pointed on my back, longer than any gun that i had known since the tip of the weapon glared in the moonlight.

I was defensive, and i would remain so, but i lowered my guard that i might look less dangerous. When i did so, the man lowered his weapon slightly, but i knew that if i acted, he would react at the same instance. If i wanted to gain an advantage, i would have to be quick enough to get behind the man so that the other man could not defeat me with his weapon.

We all stood there for a tense moment, but god interceded in this moment in the form of Lancastrian dogs, who saw our forms and shouted in the brush.

"Je trouvais quelqu'un!"

"Qui êtes-vous?"

I knew that language, it was French, specifically of the region near Paris. I drew from that that they must have been some of the Lancastrian's mercenaries, since so few where English.

"Oi, you out there, identify yourselves?"

It was hard to see out in the distance being the night, but i saw silhouettes of what must have been six or so men, more than enough to do us three in.

As they drew closer, moonlight hit my armour, illuminating my Yorkist badge. To the Lancastrians, that was all that was needed to make the men near me Yorkist's by association.

"You Yorkist cunt's, i'll do you in!"

"Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?"

The Frenchmen did not know what the English man had said, so they remained behind as the man stepped forward.

The English Lancastrian turned around and shouted to his compatriots in sketchy, horrible French.

"Qu'ils ennemi, les tuer!"

At that same moment, the two men turned their faces as a monologue translation came through, translating the French into English.

"They enemy, kill them!"

If that translation wasn't enough, the fact that the Lancastrians were charging was enough for me to set aside our differences. I quickly stepped out of the bruised man's path to his weapon whilst i moved to the side of a nearby tree, to help break up any encircling tactics that the Lancastrians might have had.

It was a meaningless effort, as a tumultuous sound descended through the land. Klicks and tacks and illuminated projectiles tore through, right into the Lancastrians, killing them.

I knew of the weapon, how could i not, but i did not how one could reload so fast. How was it possible, especially with the absence of smoke!

I turned around, shocked, but my hand remained on my sword, wary.

"Kliearsck krliesrs slikkiliek?"

That same foreign voice came, followed shortly after by that monotonous translator of unknown origin or means.

"I take it those are your enemies?"

I turned around, and saw the man with the weapon that was pointed at me before.  
Before, the man had the shadow against him, but now that he was exposed to moonlight, i saw something perplexing and new. The man was no man, but what might have been a demon from hell, or a familiar of some kind. I knew to be extra cautious, but that i was also curious as well.

"Lancastrian fuckers, the scum." I spat on the ground to further emphasise my hatred of those bastards.

I kept my sword close at hand, but i soon took it upon myself to avail myself of the enemy's provisions and supplies.

I lowered my sword to the ground and took out my rondel dagger and cut off the purses of the slain one by one. Sometimes i would observe the injuries closer, and i saw that they were small in size, far smaller than what i had seen before for a firearm.

The men expressed their grimace of my action. They did not voice it, but i could see it in the men's eyes. I was perplexed, since why would a demon find my action's to be morally puzzling?

I found that one man had carried provisions on a bag, inside where grapes, presumably stolen, as well as a bunch of bread and a piece of young cheese. The cheese was green, young, it was 'green' and young because it was quite soft to the touch. I secured the bag around my back, before searching through the bodies again for more stuff to take.

To my fortune i had found another man who was of a similar size to me who wore a fresh gambeson that was dry, though it had a small hole in it from one of the men's weapons. I removed my brigandine, my jack chains and my aketon as fast as i could, exposing my bruised body to the onlooking men, who turned away in befuddlement. Had they not seen a man change clothing before, or was it the fact that i was taking my clothing from the dead that confused them.

I took off the Lancastrian's braies and hose, and then i removed my own, exposing my naked cheeks playfully to the men, my own crude, vulgar joke, which earned a smirk from the man and a look of puzzlement on the part of the demon. Baring an ass was done before most battles started, and even i bared my backside to the Lancastrians before the start of the battle, how could i not.

"Did he, did he just flash us?"

"Kliesrsk, sleskieliesk kiliesrse jursesrleisresk kuerkkriesiesrk."… "Do all you humans act like this, or is this just what you did in the past as a greeting or something?"

"I don't know Garrus, but whatever he is doing, he has a nice ass, i'll give him that."

The demon's name was Garrus then, interesting to know.

With the man's braies and hose freshly fitted, i replaced my shoes with the Lancastrian's shoes before again looking through the enemies gear for anything that i could take or sell off.

I spotted it then, an arquebus with an unlit match and three pouches full of powder. They were devilish weapons, but the other men might find a use for one

I quickly retrieved my longsword and returned it to its sheathe before rushing forth to the men.

"You saved my life, and Garrus too. It be only right that i give this in exchange."

I held out the arquebus. From the man i received a chuckle, though Garrus, the demon seemed interested.

The demon quickly grasped it. From there i noticed that the man had two fingers and a thumb, odd.

He must have figured out how the weapon performed, since he had eyed it up and down and pulled the priming guard from its position, spilling priming powder all over his lap.

"Lkiresrses taisjes."… "I only have four heat sink's left Vega, so i will take it."

So the man's name was Vega.

"Hah, that's what you get for bringing a sniper into battle."

"Tleirse Kilerseck"… "Hey, far as i know, you only have two heat sinks left, that is what, sixty shots left?"

"Whatever scar's, i like my odd's anyway."

I hated not being the focus of their attention as they whittled away in conversation.

"So, Caballero… why are you here?"

I knew that one word, it was in Castillian speak, what they spoke in the region of Castille and Aragon, which housed the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela , a primary site of Pilgrimage, similar to our own Canterbury Cathedral, which bore the coffin of Saint Thomas Becket. I knew very little of the Castilian language since there was a distant cousin of ours who came to visit every three years or so, but i knew enough of the language that i could have a short conversation.

"Es usted un hombre de castilla?"

That shook Vega, who must not have thought that i understood some of his language.

"Hablo español"

That interested me. Espanola. I knew that the Latin word for it was Hispania, but nobody referred to it that way since long before the moors attacked in the far past. As it stood, there were the Moor's, the Kingdom of Castile and the Kingdom of Aragon, as well as a few minor players in the area. None referred to the country in that way, at least not to refer to a unified country.

"Espanol?, no desde los tiempos de los moros que ha sido llamada que, excepto para referirse a las tierras del páramo."

Vega felt the urge to correct the boy on his Spanish, but did not do so, instead he spoke back in English.

"I truly am in the past then. Well shit Garrus, this has just topped out on the crazy encounter list."

I took to a nearby patch of earth and sat down, tired as i was that i could barely stand. Hours of battle and escaping were not exactly easy on the body.

"So… Caballero, what's your name?"

"Caston, son of Walter. I was a squire in the service of Sir Hugh Laurence, but alas for he is dead, slain by those abominable Lancastrians!"

"Tlerseckes Rilraesyrrk?"… "Was there a battle?"

"Yes, up in the hills near Bosworth field. I fought for what must have been two hours, keeping the swords from blocking the bill's, occasionally stabbing about with the butt of my poleaxe and sometimes killing those who got too close, that's what i mostly did. Them Lancastrians didn't move their ground, surprising bunch of mercenaries… god curse my language, but fuck them all."

Garrus figured around for a moment when a bright orange coloured wall flowed from his arm. I was shocked, but said nothing.

"Lekisre juesr kirse fse."… "If my Omni-tool is correct, he means he was at the battle of Bosworth, on the 22nd of August, 1485. The king is executed and is thrown on a horse naked. It says here that they might have stabbed his butt… with a sharp object like a dagger after death."

I was shaken, forsook by the divine god, how else could this have happened. We outnumbered the Lancastrians by a multitude. "Richard… Richard is dead, those Lancastrian bastards, i'll fucking kill every one of them!"

"Easy there, Caballero, you'll burn yourself with that hate. On the other hand though, that's pretty rough."

I felt like it was my time to ask a question, no… i was obliged for one. "Wherefore do you come from? Garrus must be from deep down in the infernos of hell."

The man, Vega laughed. The demon, Garrus, simply moved those weird things at the side of his mouth for a moment.

"Hahahahaha, you hear this kid. I am James Vega, i come from California, which is in a place called America, which is to the west of England.

"West, so you must be from the Cathay's, or maybe from the India's, mayhaps from the spice lands."

"Cathay's, spice lands, what are you talking about?"

I was about to raise my voice and speak, but Garrus spoke up first.

"Llieserk kioelesrselek."… "Cathay, if my Omni-cyclopedia is right he means China. It is said here that the common belief of the time was that to the west of Europe was a wide ocean before reaching East Asia. They did not know that America existed until Christopher Columbus."

"Wait, don't these people believe that the world was flat and shit like that?"

I was shocked, i had been told by several learned and wise men that the world was round, why else would the star's change position in the sky over a long journey, why did buildings get obscured the further away you were. I reached around in my bag and retrieved a grape, and held it out in the palm of my right hand.

"But the world is surely round like this grape, for a building to leave the horizon from my viewpoint, the world must bend for it to be so. And how else do the stars change position in the heavens if not for a bend. I have seen it on the mappa mundi."

I ate the grape, starved as i was, before reaching into my bag and pulling out some bread.

"Well i'll be damned, i am wrong. Still i bet you didn't know that the sun and the planets don't orbit around the Earth, the Earth and the planets orbit around the sun."

I thought the man was joking, surely it would have been known so if the world revolved around the sun.

"Surely not, it would be known by now if it were so."

I held out my loaf of bread to Vega, wondering if he would like some. He refused, before pulling out a pack from inside a pocket of his.

Vega turned around and tapped Garrus at the shoulder. "So Garrus, tell him where you are from, huh?"

Garrus sighed, before giving his own story. It was downplayed to make it more suitable for Caston to understand.

"I am Garrus Vakarian of house Vakarian. I come from a place called Palaven. There are places where great spires of gleaming silver and green shimmers in the sunlight, they are as large as twenty houses. I lived in a place called Cipritine, the largest and most important city on all of Palaven. We are an empire and there are many men like me who keep the peace in a place called the Citadel. I used to be a… sheriff, keeping the peace in the land. I am a Turian, and we are known as the Turian Hierarchy."

I heard the story and could not hold myself back.

"An empire, it must have been big?"

Garrus held his arm's outstretched to emphasise what he was about to say. "Our Empire was huge and great. A human called Shepard saved us from defeat." Garrus said no more, because he could barely hold back his loss of Shepard, his lover.

I held out my loaf of bread, to see if Garrus wanted any, he refused.

"I see, so you work together because a human saved your kind?"

"Yes, we used to be at eachother's throats over what the human's called the first contact war, but we are now friendly."

I took a bite out of my piece of bread. The taste lit up my stomach, which felt like roaring like a lion, which i suppressed.

"I see. But why are you two here, in the kingdom of England?"

"We don't know, we just blacked out and woke up here."

Garrus quickly spoke up, as though he had come to a conclusion.

"If we are here, where is Shepard?"

Vega turned to face Garrus and spoke just as fast. "Shit!, you're right Garrus, where would Lola be. We should be in London, but where are we now?"

"London, but you are in the midlands!" I took a short breath before furthering along the conversation. "I myself have a cousin, a merchant of some renown who takes to London on a thrice yearly trip, he should be there. If anything, i ought to be able to con him out of a few garments for myself."

Garrus spoke up, alarmed. "London, how long will it take us to get there?"

"Maybe a week or so if we had horse, but by land it be longer. You have to be careful of the brigands too, they can sense good pickings a mile away, through the tree's all about, even through fog and the worst of weather. They have bows strong that even my arms would hurt to string them at full draw. I fear to take you there even if i had horses, unless i were with a group of twenty and a guide."

Vega spoke then. "I see. Tell me, where could we acquire horses?"

I spoke then. "We could steal them?" I coughed, morbidly realising the reality of my new found fate. "I am already a dead man, so i could steal them." Garrus and Vega shook their heads, no.

"Mayhaps i could find fellow survivors and round them up and we could steal some horses from a nearby village. I know of a few around, though their horses are not of the best quality." More heads swinging round, another no. If we could not steal a horse, how else could we get them.

"We could buy one, but they are as expensive as half of my gear, armour and all that, each."

Garrus thought about that particular quandary, but decided that stealing the horses would have to be the option. Garrus did not like it at all. Vega was stuck in a tie.

Garrus stood up and spoke. "We must steal the horses." It was not a simple question, it was a declaration.

"What did you just say scar's, you want us to steal now…"

"No Vega, Shit! Shepard needs us more than anyone else does right now. We can return the horses later damnit."

Vega stood up as well. "Shit, i guess you're right then. How the hell do you even go about stealing a horse, i ain't done that before?"

On that, i had no idea. "We must devise a way to get there quietly, yet also find a way to quieten the horses too. It would have to be done at night, but how do you do it without a light source in the dead of night?"

Garrus spoke up then. "I have an idea, it just might work."

* * *

Shepard felt sore all over. It was then when she felt bandages, linen-like sheeting and the smell of fragrant spice wafting around.

Shepard opened her eyes, to be shocked by what she saw. She was in an all-stone building, stained glass adorned a side window, letting in multiple shades of light into the room. Wherever she was, the person who owned such a place must be rich. To her left was a wooden table, hand-made from the looks of it. On the table rested a wooden cup and a wooden bowl. Shepard quickly reached out and grabbed both items.

The contents inside of the cup smelled of clove, cinnamon and plenty of other things that must have been herbs of some sort. All were soaked in boiling water and what must have been honey, given the slight smell of it. Shepard drank it down in a huge gulp, the first taste reinvigorating her. Whoever left this for her must have been a real hippy or one of those weird fortune-teller like people, though she couldn't deny that the herbs or whatever was inside was damn good for her mood.

Next Shepard smelled what was inside the bowl. It didn't have much of a discernible smell, except for the hint of almond and what must have been beef or something of that sort. It was strange in a way.

Shepard tasted it with the ladle-like wooden spoon. It tasted stunning. She noticed the flavour of chicken and almond, and faintly of beef. It was unusual, yet it felt right. It was even filling, Shepard found that she could only eat half of it, before the pain in her stomach from where she had been damaged in her fall in London had caused her to stop eating.

Shepard managed to get herself off of her bed. Turning back to looking at the bed, she noticed the difference almost immediately. Whatever the bed was, it was not modern. There were no metal springs or a mattress that anyone would expect to see in modern bed's, instead it was essentially a cloth bag filled with some sort of substance that would act as stuffing, attached to a four-poster frame of wood, in this case with the bed post's having their head's shaped in the visage of a bird looking out in every direction.

To irritate Shepard further, she noticed that she had no clothing on her. Whoever had saved her had taken off her clothing, presumably to get to her body in order to bandage and perform on her. Was this some sort of missionary hospital? Shepard remembered that she was in London before going to the Citadel, so it was possible that she was brought back to London for her be nursed back to health.

Shepard looked around for anything that she might be able to wear. It was then where she spotted it hanging up on a wooden peg attached to one of the stone walls. On the peg were several garments.

Shepard examined them, and realised that she had no idea on what the hell they were. One looked to be like socks that covered up to the knee. Shepard threw them, not knowing what to do with them.

There was a tunic-like garment; it looked rather like a chemise or something like that which strippers and Asari women often liked to wear. The clothing that was presented to Shepard was not stripper-ish at all, it seemed as though it were made of a light-weight fabric, possibly linen. The garment was an off-coloured white which featured full arm-length sleeves. The cloth garment went down to the knee in length. Shepard threw it on over her head, hoping that she had put the garment on right. When it fell down, Shepard couldn't help but notice that it was a comfortable piece of clothing, if a little weird looking.

There was a third garment that seemed as though it was made to go over what she was wearing. It was blue coloured and featured sleeves that were even longer in size than the chemise or whatever it was that she was currently wearing. The third garment also seemed to be longer down the knees then what she was wearing. Shepard touched the fabric and felt the difference almost immediately; it was thicker and slightly puffier, as though it had been made of woollen fabric. Shepard tried to attach the clothing to her body and failed several times. She realised that she had to put the garment on like her last one.

Shepard found a belt, which she affixed to where her waistline was. It changed the way that the garments felt and looked, and Shepard thought it might even look somewhat attractive, in an odd way. The clothing seemed to hang off the belt, and not on her shoulders, which made Shepard feel lighter.

There was another garment, a skullcap like garment that seemed to be made of the same off-white linen-like fabric as the chemise was made of. It had two chinstraps on the sides. Shepard had no idea what to do with it, and threw it aside like she had done to the sock-like garments. Shepard even found two coloured strips of fabric, but had no idea what the hell they were even doing here and threw them aside as well.

With her 'clothing', Shepard began to walk towards the wooden doorway that was on the right side.

To Shepard's dismay, she was not the one who opened the door. Instead, there were two priests who opened the door as Shepard was halfway through the room. Shepard was expecting to see priests in the usual black shirt with the white tie on the middle of their collar; instead they were wearing brown, feet-length monk robes, which were hung around a simple rope belt on their waists. On both men were crucifix's. Whoever these priests were, they must have been Catholic. Perhaps they were sworn to a particular order, such as the Benedictine order or something like that.

Shepard was about to speak, but could not open her mouth, she was too tired to do so.

The monk's did not speak, but they aided her through the room. It was then, outside of the room where she spotted it. Outside was a stone enclosure, and to the right of it was a huge building, a church… no… something more like a Cathedral, a cathedral with flying buttresses. Shepard thought that it might have been Westminster abbey, but there were no towers on the side of the building. To her left, she saw what seemed to be a large garden, sporting herbs and vegetables and plants of all kinds, with monks both old and young attending to them.

Where was she, she thought. It was so peaceful here, she thought, away from the reaper war. Maybe this was the future without the reapers; she had destroyed them, hadn't she?

Little did she know that she was in the past, far in the past.

* * *

I used Google Translate for all of the French and Spanish sections. If i am wrong, reply or post back what it should look like in letters and i will put them in.

If anybody is interested in what Shepard ate, she is eating Blancmanger, which was often served to 'invalid' or sickly people. If it sounds like the recipe that you think it is, a dessert often made with milk and flavoured with almond, well the people who invented it used the old recipe but took out the chicken/meat, whilst using the same name as the medieval one. The medieval blancmange is often made with almond meal, chicken pieces, lard and several other ingredients. They were often served with spices for special events, though they took the spices out when serving it to sick/infirm/invalid people.


End file.
